This is my first CSI fic, so please go a little easy! All reviews are definitely welcome – reviews are what make the world a happier place – but please, no flames, they will only be used to toast marshmallows.

DISCLAIMER: Sadly, I don't own any of the names that you will recognise. I wish I did, but I don't, so please don't sue me!

As dawn began to shed light over Las Vegas for another day, Sara couldn't even begin contemplating going out to enjoy the early morning sun. She'd messed up and didn't she know it. 'A rookie error, Sara; a god damn rookie error' she berated herself and slammed her fist into a nearby cabinet – only feeling the pain that she felt that she deserved.

'Hey, c'mon, what did it ever do to hurt you?' a voice surprised her from behind, causing her to immediately twist round to find the source. 'Was just there and a convenient punch bag, I guess,' Sara tried, forcing a smile.

'Then you know that we've had to let Justin Williams go, I take it?' Grissom lent relatively casually against the door-frame as he spoke, his tone gentle, yet matter-of-fact.

'Yeah, I heard.' Sara started to pace up and down the room, her gaze focussed on the ground. 'It's my fault, we had the evidence and I messed up. The scum-bag's going to walk free because I got it wrong, Griss. I contaminated the evidence and he's going free to go and kill some other poor girl.' As she spoke, she was almost spitting venom. Her eyes were filled with a deep passion, a hatred of him and both what he and she had done coupled with a sense of guilt that made her feel sick.

'We'll get him. Don't worry; we'll get him in the end.' Grissom tried to reassure his younger colleague, but knowing that his words were futile.

'You're telling me not to worry?' Sara spat. 'How many more is he going to kill before we get him again, Griss? How many people are going to die because of my stupid mistake? How can you even begin to tell me not to worry?'

For an instant, Grissom thought that the fuel of her anger wasn't going to burn out. But then, within seconds of running out of words, he could see the tears begin to well up in her eyes – the first sign that she might be letting her defences down to let her true emotions out. And he was there to catch her, immediately by her side to provide both a metaphorical and a literal shoulder to cry on. At first she tried to push him away, tried to gruffly wipe away the tears as though they were a pest that had no right to be there. But then she couldn't do it any longer. The emotion finally overwhelmed her as the tears and the pain started to flow in a steady stream and she was forced to admit that she needed the shoulder to cry on, that she needed the support that he provided.

'Shhh, it's alright. It's going to be alright.' He gently helped her onto a nearby chair and provided a tissue from his pocket. While he knew that, if it weren't for the incontrollable tears, she would brutally inform him that it was anything but alright, she needed to hear the comforting lies that he spoke. 'Sure, you made a mistake,' he continued, 'but everyone does – yeah, even you. We will get him. There'll be other evidence and we will get him. Don't beat yourself up over it.'

Sara continued to sit with her head in her hands for a while, trying to order the jumble of thoughts on her mind and to control the torrent of tears. But then, slowly, she sat up, brushing a strand of hair away from her face as she did so. 'Thanks,' she managed.

'I tell you what, why don't you go home and try to get some sleep?' Grissom tried. 'You haven't had a good night's sleep for a while and it would probably help.'

Sara stared at him in disbelief. How would sleep help anything? How could he even consider her sleeping at a time like this?

Yet she didn't have either the will or the energy to argue and so, somehow, her body defied her thoughts to spill out the words 'Yeah, I think I will.' And before she knew it, she was outside in her car, driving along the highway – in anything but the direction to her bed.

The roads were relatively clear – as she had expected for that time in the morning – and for this small blessing, she was grateful. Fewer cars meant fewer things for her weary mind to think about and allowed her to consider more what she was about to do. A part of her was screaming that Grissom was, of course, right, and that she should simply turn around now and no-one would ever need to know what she was contemplating. And yet she kept driving – the seemingly irrational part of her conscience winning the battle in her mind – and pulled up by the familiar yellow and black tape.

With shades to protect her still-red eyes from the sun and anyone who might recognise her and ask what was wrong, Sara re-familiarised herself with her surroundings and got to doing what she did best – dusting every square inch of the scene for a fingerprint or anything, anything at all, that could once and for all prove the case.

She could still sense the restless spirit around the place - a presence that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end and urged her to continue her search for evidence. She had tried to kid herself that it was just the air-conditioning, unwilling to admit to either herself or anyone else that there could be a supernatural presence there.

Her search was relentless and systematic – an attempt to make up for previous errors with perfection this time round. Her only pauses came in order to wipe the occasional bead of sweat from her brow. She tried every trick in the book, hoping that the impossibility of a perfect crime was matched with the impossibility of perfect investigating, and that she could find something that might previously have been missed.

But every alley-way that she turned up proved to be a dead-end as she drew blank after blank after blank. A fire in her heart demanded that she didn't give up even though she knew that she was not getting anywhere. More than that though, the focus required to do what she was doing allowed her once more to build up a defence against her emotions.

'They said that you might be here,' a voice once again startled her from behind, making her swear to be more alert in future.

'Yeah… well….' Sara got gingerly to her feet, unimpressed by both the distraction and the fact that she was being checked up on.

'You shouldn't be here,' Warrick pressed on, as uncomfortable with the situation as he guessed that Sara must be. 'C'mon, I'll take you home.'

'I can get home quite alright by myself thanks,' Sara spoke in far harsher a tone than she had intended. 'And I don't need people checking up on me. I'm a big girl now and can look after myself.'

'I never said that you couldn't.' Warrick held his hand up in mock surrender. 'I'm just offering you help and advice as a colleague and a friend. You look for too tired to be driving and you shouldn't be around here. I mean, not only should you be getting some rest and taking a step back from this case, but Williams could be back round here any time – and I can't imagine that you're exactly on his Christmas card list at the moment.'

Sara had to admit that Warrick was talking sense, much as she hated to admit it. And so, taking off her gloves with more than a hint of resignation, she went without a word and let herself in the passenger door of his truck.

'Do you wanna talk about it?' Warrick asked as they headed down the highway, a deep concern in his eyes.

Sara shrugged, not quite sure how to play this one. 'Not much to talk about.'

Warrick took the hint, knowing not to press the issue any further. Grissom had told him to go easy and he had experienced the fiery temperament of Sara Sidle on enough occasions to know to tread carefully.

It wasn't long before Warrick's truck had pulled up outside Sara's place. By now it was the middle of the day and the sun was beating down on the concrete. Both Sara and Warrick were surprised by the intensity of the heat as they left the air-conditioned sanctuary of the vehicle.

'Are you gonna be alright?' Warrick questioned, knowing the answer already, but asking anyway. As expected, he got the reply of an assured nod and the simple words 'Yeah. Thanks.' All that he could do was watch as she let herself into the building and closed the door with a reassuring smile of thanks. He waited outside in the heat for a few minutes, just in case she changed her mind. But, unsurprisingly, she didn't.

In fact, Sara hadn't got any further than the front door before the emotions of the previous days finally took over her body. And it was there, slouched against the door, that she stayed for an unknown period of time, hugging her knees into her body and allowing the tears to flow freely. Her entire body ached and the tears only compounded the helplessness that she felt. And then, eventually, as though her body had done with crying and simply had no more tears to shed, her red and puffy eyes dried and, drained, she was able to make her way to her couch where her eyes were quick to close and allow her to immerse herself in sleep.

Little did she know though, as she slept, that only a few miles down the road her situation was being discussed and her fate decided.

'She's the goddamn best CSI I've worked with,' one voice stated with conviction.

'But she messed up. Who says that she won't do it again?' another voice added with equal passion.

'She won't. I say that she won't. I would trust her with my life,' the first voice responded.

'And if she does…?' the second voice continued to probe.

'She won't. End of discussion. She stays on,' a third voice entered the equation and ended any argument that might have been developing.

And, as if to make sure that the others in the room knew that this was the end of the discussion, a final door slam dismissed any lingering doubts. Sara Sidle was staying on but… well, the 'but' was probably going to be bigger than anyone expected.

TBC